


How To Haunt Your Opera

by Avourellion



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Best Friends, Christine forces Raoul and Erik to get along, Christine thinks it's hilarious, Comedy short stories, Erik is not nearly as dignified as he pretends to be, Erik loves saying Christine's name, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Glitter War, Mostly ALW based with Kay details directly about Erik's backstory, No Angst, No Romance, Raoul gets seasick, Which means we're saying he has the half mask rather than the Kay/Leroux full one, but maybe some vaguely shippy lines, even on Erik's tiny lake, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avourellion/pseuds/Avourellion
Summary: A ghost, an opera singer, and a viscount walk into a theatre. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, doesn't it?We follow the adventures of Erik, Christine, and Raoul in the theatre as Christine tries to force her two friends to get along with each other without fighting. They try to convince Erik not to attempt to murder anyone who vaguely annoys him, and there are all sorts of marvelous pranks one can play when they have the Opera Ghost on their side.Beware, bad puns and glitter are to follow.—-—-—-—-—-—A collection of very short, fluffy, happy stories that are loosely connected. The first two are chronological, but you can take all the others in any order you'd like. Someone PLEASE suggest a new title because this one was a shitty placeholder I never got around to changing
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Raoul de Chagny & Christine Daaé, Raoul de Chagny & Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Kudos: 19





	1. CHRISTINE

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, the three of them will probably be fairly OOC, but then again, we're almost entirely disregarding canon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik is a drama queen. I'll leave it at that.

Raoul cast a doubtful glance at the small boat, lashed to an iron ring in the wall by a thin rope. Ostensibly, the water that it bobbed in was access to the sewer system. In reality, it led to a small, shallow natural lake that had formed in a long-abandoned section of the Parisian catacombs above which the opera house had been built. The lake, in addition to the mazelike foundations of the opera house and the catacombs, served as a perfect way to hide the home of one who didn't want to be disturbed. Namely, Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. 

"It's perfectly safe, Raoul," Christine said patiently, one foot on the boat and the other on the stone ledge above the water. "I've been on this boat dozens of times before and look at me. I'm not dead."

"Yet," Raoul muttered. 

Christine held out a hand. "I promise it's fine. You can sit down, on the bottom, and we'll be safe."

"I can keep it from rocking, if you're worried about falling off." 

Raoul jerked his head up as Erik spoke. The Phantom stood grim and silent at the far stern of the small boat, his dark clothes blending into the stone wall behind him. The gleaming white of his mask and his pale eyes that almost seemed to glow were the only things that stood out in the dim light. Christine could have easily glanced over him if she hadn't known he was standing there. She supposed that was rather the point, just as stagehands wore all black when the moved around the set. 

Raoul sighed. "You're not going to let me wait here for you to return? I really don't fancy risking falling into the lake."

"By all means, please. Wait here," Erik said.

Christine shot him a reproachful glance. Raoul and Erik were her the closest friends she'd ever known, but they couldn't say the same of each other. At least they got along far better now than they had at first. Christine had made it her personal mission to get the two of them to become friends.

"No, Raoul, you can come with us, don't listen to him."

Raoul wrinkled his nose. "Fine." He placed a hesitant foot into the boat. His arms pinwheeled as he lost his balance for a moment. To Christine's surprise, Erik shot an arm out and grabbed his shoulder, steadying Raoul without losing his own balance in the slightest, then helped him settle down in the middle of the small boat. 

She didn't let either of them see her grin as her plot to turn them into friends progressed another notch. 

As Erik undid the knot and pushed them away down the waterway, the reason for Raoul's hesitation was instantly clear. It turned out he wasn't afraid of falling in the water. No, the slightest bit of movement made Raoul terribly, completely seasick. 

Christine knew she shouldn't laugh at her friend's suffering, but she found his seasickness disproportionately hilarious, given his fondness for the spinning rides they had enjoyed as children. He'd always been able to easily stomach spinning around and around blindingly fast on the swing they'd made from a board and an old rope, but even the slightest motion of the boat was too much for him.

For her part, Christine sat in the front of the small boat, her legs tucked up to her chest and her skirts pulled tight around her. With the three of them on the small boat, it sank deeper in the water than it should have, since it had originally been meant for only Erik's weight. She was focused on Raoul's face, which was becoming increasingly green as Erik caught the currents to bring them across the lake.

The light that filtered down into the catacombs beneath the opera house was tinged vaguely green as it came down through narrow, slit-like windows into the foundations of the theatre, casting strange shadows across all of their faces.

She shifted slightly, trying to get into a slightly more comfortable position. It was a fatal mistake. Her movement threw the balance of the precariously floating craft enough that it rocked wildly from side to side.

Christine and Raoul were safe. Well, if one could consider Raoul's face going from _sick_ to _seconds away from throwing up_ safe. 

Erik, on the other hand, had been standing in the stern. He had excellent balance and reflexes from years of creeping around in the latticeworks above the stage and within the walls, but he was caught just enough off guard by the sudden movement.

He fell with a piercing and entirely undignified yelp, tumbling over the side of the boat and landing in the water with a splash in the water.

Christine knew three things from past experience: One, the water was fairly warm compared to what one might expect. It was neither hot nor cold to the touch, and it was a wonderful temperature for one to take their shoes and stockings off and dip their feet in. Two, that Erik was perfectly capable of swimming and was in no risk of drowning as he fell. And three, Erik was by far the most overdramatic person she had ever met.

With these things in mind, Christine laughed. She threw back her head and laughed in such an unladylike way Madame Giry would be thoroughly scandalized. Even Raoul, despite his seasickness, was shaking with mirth, his arms wrapped around his stomach.

Erik flailed around wildly in the water, splashing and struggling as though he was drowning for nearly a full minute through. His black cloak spread out, floating just beneath the surface of the water and jerking around like a large, dark sea creature.

"Oh," Christine gasped out between bursts of laughter, "stand up, Erik, oh!" She broke off again. "It's barely three feet deep, you-"

A moment later, Erik managed to regain his feet, standing in waist-deep water and glaring at Christine and Raoul, still both gasping for breath, like a miserable, dark, and dripping spectre. With his hair plastered to the sides of his face and his clothes utterly soaked, it was impossible for his glower to be at all intimidating.  
"Liar," he snapped. "This isn't three feet."

"It's close enough, you can easily st-aaAAHH!" She broke off with a shriek as Erik's glare broke into a lopsided grin and he dipped his hand into the water, splashing her with a massive wave.

"You- oh, you didn't." Christine undid the ties on her shoes and slid them off, and pulled the top layer of her dress over her head in a matter of seconds. She leaned over the edge of the boat and sent a return volley of water from both hands.

"So it's to be war between us?" he asked, eyes glinting. He cupped his hands and doused her with a double handful of water. 

Christine shrieked again as she tried to dodge and slipped backward. She grabbed at Raoul as she fell, and he was dragged over too, both of them landing in the water on the opposite side of the boat from Erik.

As soon as Raoul surfaced, spluttering, beside Christine, she could see the color was rapidly returning to his face now that he was standing on his own two feet rather than the wobbling boat. 

The three of them were soaked through, chasing each other around the boat, throwing up walls of water in their faces. 

Sometimes Christine and Raoul would work together to try to get Erik and sometimes they would team up against her. The temporary alliances counted for very little after they'd given their intended victim yet another soaking. 

After diving under the boat to escape Raoul, Christine jumped forward, tackling Erik around the waist and sending them both crashing back into the water.

He came up laughing.   
Christine had spend a while trying to figure out how to make him laugh and smile, and she was becoming more and more successful at it, but she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him grinning this wide. Had she ever seen such a smile on him before?

She stood in the water there, just watching Erik. After he sent another splash at Raoul, he turned to her. His smile turned slightly quizzical as he caught her staring gaze. 

"Is something wrong?" he asked. His hands flew to the side of his face, touching his mask as though to make sure it was still in place. The gesture seemed entirely unconscious. 

"Exactly the opposite," Christine replied, voicing her thoughts. "It's wonderful to see you smile."

"Then I shall endeavour to do it more often," he said, his smile growing again. "But for now-" 

Another wall of water hit her full in the face.

Afterward, the three of them lay on their backs across the boat, Christine in between Raoul and Erik and as a result, occasionally getting hit with the tiny droplets of water they continued to flick at each other. 

Raoul seemed to be able to handle the rocking motion of the boat far better when he was able to have his legs dangling off the side into the water, rather than when he huddled in the middle. They'd all shed their soaked outer layers of clothes, though it didn't do much to help them when nothing they had on was dry anyway. 

"See, Raoul?" Christine asked. "If you'd stayed behind, you would've missed that."

"You win this time," he admitted. "But don't think I'll let either of you drop out while you're ahead. I intend to get ahead myself."

"I look forward to it," Erik said. Christine couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. 

"So does this mean you two are friends now?" Christine joked. 

Their answer came in unison. 

"No."


	2. ERIK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know I promised no angst, and while the concept I'm exploring here is one that I thought was just kinda fluffy and heartwarming personally, I suppose anything involving the mask is going to be at least slightly angsty. But hey, we need to establish this for some of the future stories.
> 
> For the sake of this chapter and all future ones, consider that we'll be using the half-face mask from the stage, rather than Leroux's full-face one.

Erik wasn't wearing his mask.

That in itself wasn't entirely unusual. Often, and in recent times especially, he'd leave it off when he was in his lair alone, but if he was expecting a visit from Christine or the Daroga, or, less often, Raoul, he'd be sure to make sure it was in place hours before they showed up.

It used to be that he wore it for himself and no one else. After all the scorn and ridicule he'd gone through, there'd been a period of time that he couldn't bear the sight of his own disfigured face. Erik had smashed all the mirrors in any of the places he'd lived and crafted the mask to hide from the faint reflections in the lake and the polished stone.

He wasn't entirely sure when it changed. He'd started composing music through the organ he'd assembled within the foundations of the opera house, the thick stone walls blocking any sound. Perhaps that had been part of it. He took the mask off to sleep, though he rarely needed more than an hour or two each night, and he'd been so distracted by new melodies that had come to him as he rushed to the organ to write them down that he forgot to throw the mask over his face.

After that, he'd started to become more comfortable without it. There were still no mirrors in his lair - he still thought of it as a lair rather than a home - but more often than not, he left the mask in a pocket on the inside of his cape or resting against the stand of his organ. Always with him, always within reach, but off more often than on.

Which brought him back to the present. Erik sat at the organ, tapping out a melody over and over again with one hand, scribbling down notes on a loose leaf of paper with the other. It wasn't working out exactly as he was imagining it in his head, and the fact that he couldn't get it written down was infuriating.

He was a musical genius and a prodigy; Erik didn't waste time with false modesty. He was brilliant, but he still couldn't get the first notes to accompany an aria he was writing for Christine to work.  
Erik played a slight variation on the theme. No, still wrong.

With a hiss of anger, he slammed his fist against the keys of the organ. It set a low, discordant shriek through the narrow pipes. In the sudden silence that followed, he caught a faint tapping noise from one of the corridors beyond, in between his chambers and the lake.

Christine's footsteps.

Raoul's were heavier, the Daroga's less even. Those were the three that he could recognize instantly. If he heard any that he didn't recognize, it was a simple matter to melt into the darkness and wait for the person to leave, though that rarely happened save for when someone came down to inspect the quality of the opera house foundations to make sure no repairs were needed.

Erik cursed himself viciously, furious he had allowed himself to become so distracted by the music that he had not noticed Christine's presence long ago. Most days, he was able to tell she was coming from the moment she set foot down into the foundations, before she had even crossed the lake, through all his various means of monitoring the happenings in his opera house.

He flipped the book of music he was writing in closed and knotted the ties around it. Christine seemed to look through everything he left out in the open, though he couldn't say he minded. He just didn't want her to look upon the new aria he was composing before he'd finished.

Reaching into one of the narrow pockets, he felt around for the mask- Erik let out another quiet string of curses. Of course. It was lying on the low table across the room, too far away.

He glanced between the door and the mask, but he already knew there were too many obstacles in the way. He'd look like a complete fool in front of Christine, jumping over a chair in a mad dash for the mask. He'd do anything to avoid embarrassing himself in front of her.

 _It's not like she hasn't seen you without the mask before,_ he tried to tell himself to calm his racing heart. Erik felt so vulnerable, so naked, without it covering his face. 

_That incident also involved all three of you nearly getting killed,_ responded a different part of his mind.

"I brought muffins," Christine said cheerfully, pushing through the curtain that separated the organ room from the other chambers. It had been far easier to simply drape it from hooks above the gap than try to install an actual door. 

She didn't look directly at him as she began clearing a spot for her wicker basket on the table.

Erik sat at the organ, almost painfully stiff, watching her. He kept his hands folded in his lap despite every instinct in him fighting, screaming at him, to raise them to cover his face. When she turned around and saw him, he wanted it to be perfectly clear that the mask was off by his own free will, and not that she had somehow forced him.

Christine stilled, her hands freezing over the basket. She was blocking Erik's view of the table beyond, but he had no doubt she'd just noticed the mask. 

"Well," she said, her tight voice confirming it. When she turned around, a muffin in either hand, he watched her as she stared very pointedly at his eyes, her gaze not wandering over his swollen lips or disformed face. "Do you want a muffin? I know you barely eat anything, but..." She held it out to him.

"Yes, thank you, Christine." Erik stood and reached over the small organ, taking the proffered pastry. 

She dropped her gaze as he raised the muffin to his mouth and took a bite. 

"So," Christine began when they had both finished eating. Usually, the two of them could talk for hours on end. He'd share everything he'd overheard while creeping around in the theatre, and she'd tell him about her day and the performances she was helping with. They'd get into long and passionate discussions about the books they'd been reading together, one of their favorites being Victor Hugo's Les Miserables, based on events in Paris many years previously. Christine had gotten to visit several of the locations the book had described, later recounting them in great detail to Erik.

Now, it seemed she couldn't find any words.

"How was your day, Christine?" he asked at last. 

She still didn't look at him. "One of the girls - Anne Marie - has several new kittens. She says she'll be bringing them here to give away as soon as they're weaned, since she doesn't need any more cats."

"She has three, does she not?"

"She does."

They lapsed into silence again. Erik was still fighting the urge to draw something over his face - his hands, a fold of his cloak, anything - but he managed to resist easier now that Christine wasn't looking at him.

"There's talk of hiring a new stagehand or two, have you heard? They think having more will make it easier on them all."

"I have. I do hope he's competent enough that I won't have to pay him a visit and teach him how to do his job."

Christine let out a shaky laugh, and after a moment, Erik joined her. They both knew his method of teaching someone was far from conventional and, more often than not, involved a good deal of shouting, threats, or both.

"Do try not to scare him too badly, then. I'd hate for the poor thing to quit his job out of terror over the Opera Ghost."

After a short while, Erik held his hands out in front of him, hidden from Christine by the organ in front of him. They were shaking. Interesting. Nervousness was not an emotion he was used to. "Shall we go up and watch the rehearsal?" he asked, folding his hands behind his back and standing elegantly.

Christine glanced up, eyes locking onto Erik's. She was still refusing to look over the rest of his face, and for that, he was glad, though would she _just look away, please, Christine-_

She opened her mouth as though she was going to ask how he knew they were rehearsing up above, but seemed to think better of it. Erik always knew everything happening within his opera house. "That would be wonderful."

Crossing the room, he brushed past her and picked up the mask, sliding it over his face. Thin, nearly invisible wires wrapped around the back of his head kept it securely in place. 

Both of them seemed to give a sigh of relief the moment it was in place again.

* * *

After that day, something seemed to change. Neither of them commented on it, though Erik did overhear Christine discussing it with Raoul one day.

Slowly, he began to leave the mask off more and more often. It was an entirely conscious decision, and it was his own choice. It felt good, somehow, to subtly take charge of the thing that had controlled and destroyed his entire life.

None of them brought any attention to it, though Christine was able to overcome her surprise at Erik's decision far quicker than Raoul did. Of course, he always wore it outside of his lair, no matter if he was alone or with Christine or anyone else.

It was like he was no longer hiding. A part of him that had for so long been closely shielded and guarded was open once more, and he faced the fear of being ridiculed and shamed by Raoul and Christine, however irrational that fear was, and destroyed it.

Erik never told either of them, but he was more proud of this than anything else, even his finest music and songs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just needed to get this sorted, you'll see why later. I might actually take this and fully expand it into its own, separate story, since I'm trying to keep these vignette type things here fairly short. Let me know in the comments if that's something you would be interested in.
> 
> I want to be entirely clear here: He's not doing it for her, or for anyone besides himself. He's worn the mask more as a shield or a defense against others, after the shame and ridicule he's received for his face. He trusts Christine fully, and because she trusts Raoul, so does Erik by extension. This is his own personal choice because he wants to overcome his own fears and all. While on one hand, this is an interesting character analysis, that, if y'all want, I'd definitely expand on, but it also was needed to set up the story for future chapters. Thanks!


	3. CHRISTINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning to do this one later on, but seeing as we've gotten the mask thing out of the way, I decided to go ahead and show you exactly why we needed to talk about that now.

It wasn't a half-bad plan, if Christine said so herself, though as the one who'd come up with it, perhaps she wasn't qualified to talk.

Several days before, she'd gone out with Raoul to a fabric store and purchased a large container of sequins and a glue-and-glitter set of the kind that was used to decorate masquerade props. The supplies were now secured back in one of the practice rooms. After Erik had told her how he'd once stolen a purse of money that was safety-pinned to the man that carried it, she'd chosen to take no chances with him pickpocketing her supplies. She had no doubt he could take them off her with her none the wiser. 

Erik's cape and hat hung on the wall, and she plucked them off as she passed. The hat was far too large for her, the wide brim mostly obscuring her vision, and the cloak hung all the way to the ground, even after she folded it up over her shoulders to get rid of some of the extra length.

He was bent over a table, scribbling out some drawings. Erik couldn't tell what they were as she were as she approached. 

Christine touched the pads of her thumb and forefinger together, holding them up to her face and peering through the gap in a rough approximation of Erik's mask. 

"Ooh, look at me!" she said, her voice warbling with a terrible, uneven vibrato in imitation of a ghost. "I'm the Phantom of the Opera, and I'm so scary and stealthy."

She crept across the room with such exaggerated footsteps that they were the exact opposite of inconspicuous. 

Erik glanced up, eyebrows raised, but made no comment. 

"And I hate sunshine and I always hide underground because I loathe human beings," she continued, squeezing onto the chair next to him. He was perched on the very edge, and slid over to the side to make room for her.

"Oh, come on, Erik. Smile." Christine poked a finger at his cheek, avoiding the lumpy, sunken spots that she knew were often sore, and pushed upward, pulling his lips into a half-smile. She felt his face tense as he struggled to keep a straight face himself.

"Stop, Christine, you- Christine!" Erik dropped his face into his hands, but not before she saw his smile and the faint pink that spread across his cheeks. 

Christine threw her hands in the air triumphantly. "Victory!"

"Is that really what I act like?" he asked, voice muffled by his hands.

"Which part?"

"Hating the sun? Hiding underground? Loathing people? Yep."

"You nearly punched me that time Raoul and I brought you up to the roof of the Opera house during the day, you said it was too bright and tried to fight the sun. You literally live underground in the foundations. And yes, it's very clear that you hate everyone and everything."

He finally glanced up at her, a lopsided grin on his face. "I don't hate you."

She returned his grin. "I know."

A small movement across the room, behind Erik's back, caught Christine's eye. Raoul stood in the doorway, holding up Erik's mask and mouthing at her. 

_I got it. Now hurry up_ , he was saying.

Christine, not knowing what else to do, leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Erik. He was stiff as a board before softening slightly. He gave her an awkward pat on the back, as if he didn't know what to do with his arms.

 _Give me a moment,_ she mouthed back at Raoul.

"Thank you," she said, pulling away and standing. "I should really be going, but I'll be back down for a lesson this evening?"

"Of course," he replied smoothly, straightening his jacket. "I look forward to it."

As Christine left, she made as though to return the hat to where it hung on the wall, in case Erik was watching her leave, but placed it back on her head and kept the cloak slung around her shoulders. As soon as they were back across the lake and she was fairly confident Erik wouldn't be listening in, she turned to Raoul. 

"What took so long?"

"The mask turned out to be under a massive pile of crumpled up music. He obviously hasn't been out for a while. I mean, he doesn't really ever wear it there, does he? Only when he goes up."

"Not anymore, no."

"So it would only have gotten buried if he hadn't left in days."

"He's been busy, though he refuses to tell me what he's been doing. I assume he's working on some great, large piece. Perhaps another opera rather than just a few songs."

"That's as good a reason as any." Raoul slipped the mask over his own face, the thin wire wrapping around the back of his head. "Thanks for distracting him. He would've noticed me looking in an instant if it weren't for you."

Christine smirked. "You should've seen my impression of him."

"I'm sure it was marvelous." Raoul wrinkled his nose. "How does he breathe in this thing? It completely covers my nose and I'm not fond of walking around with my mouth open."

He pulled it off and passed it to Christine. It was too large to fit her properly, but pinching the wire in the back of her head made it stay on well enough. 

Back upstairs, they soon got to work. Raoul took the cloak and began stitching sequins and sparkling, glittery beads on, starting at the hem and working his way up. It already had similar designs worked around the shoulders and collar, which he would base his pattern off of, but when he was done the entire thing would sparkle magnificently. 

Christine had never been able to sew without pricking her fingers every few seconds, often leaving red stains across the fabric, so she left that part to Raoul. She painted the mask with glue and covered it with glitter, working in sections as not to smear it. When the entire thing was covered, she began adding swirling designs radiating out from the eye hold with small, rainbow-colored glass gemstones.

While the glue dried, she arranged several large, fluffy black feathers and secured them together at the base with a cluster of white glass crystals. She wrapped a silk ribbon around the entire thing, securing the large plumes to the hat. It created a headpiece similar to the extravagant hats often worn by the opera attendees. 

Raoul held up the half-finished cape for her inspection. He'd continued the patterns on the collar and shoulders over the entire thing. When Christine lifted a fold of it in her hands, the extra beads made it nearly twice as heavy as it had been. 

A clock began chiming somewhere down the hall. Seven o'clock, two hours until she would go down for a singing lesson with Erik. Though she was rapidly improving, and was already one of the greatest singers in the opera house, she had so much still to learn from him.

"I return to him at nine," she said, tracing one of the beaded swirls. "Do you think you'd be ready by then?"

"I'm not sure. I'll try to work faster, but no promises."

Christine picked up a needle and held it aloft. "I could try to help," she said doubtfully. "Though I can't make any promises either."

Raoul flipped the cloak around so the end he was working on sat in Christine's lap. He'd sketched out the main design with a piece of white chalk, crushing up a piece of it to paint on the the finer lines with the powder. 

"You can sew these beads on along the main swirls, and I'll go in and fill the rest with these small ones, if that works for you? I'd like to get this finished as soon as possible. Tonight, if we can."

"Show me how."

Raoul demonstrated how to push the needle first through the fabric from the underside, then sliding the long, thin bead onto the thread. It went back into the fabric on the other end, pulling the bead tight down, then up at the beginning and through the bead once more. It came up again, and another bead went on. In that manner, Christine began to sew the beads on in long swirls while Raoul did the intricate shapes and details branching off the main web-like lines. 

If the cape was one of the intricate, highly detailed opera costumes, they'd have spend days on the beadwork alone. As it was, they were able to get most of the design sewn on in only a few hours. It was a bit messy in places, but unless it was studied closely, no one would notice. The entire thing was ludicrously, ridiculously glittery, sparkling enough to be seen from miles away, or so Raoul said proudly as he held the finished cape up. 

"It's perfect," Christine said, laughing. "How to get it back down, though? It's far heavier than I expected now."

"We'll wrap it up in some other fabric and make sure it's all hidden. Hang it up inside out, so he can't see the sparkling at first."

Raoul did as he'd said, folding the cape so the beads were carefully protected on the inside, then rolled it up in another piece of black fabric. The mask was easily tucked inside the bundle, but the hat was more of a problem. 

In the end, Christine elected to wear it completely out in the open. She had found that, in the past, when one tried to hide something like that, it became far more noticeable. When they held it confidently and pretended as though it was entirely normal, it was usually overlooked. Confidence was key. It was very clearly a man's hat, even with the jeweled feathers, but she was reasonably sure she could make it work. 

"Thank you for your help, Raoul," Christine said, hugging him tightly. "I couldn't have done it without you. Are you coming down with me to see how he reacts?"

Raoul shuddered. "Much as I'd love to, he threatened to drown me the last time I tried to sit in on one of your lessons. Or hang me. I believe there was also something about throwing me off the roof?

Perhaps he'd try all three. I'm sure he'd know a way to do them all without killing me each time."

"The Daroga sometimes carries around a canteen of water and splashes it all over Erik whenever he's attempting to kill someone who mildly inconveniences him. We could always take up a similar strategy. But I hope you know he probably didn't mean any of it, don't you?"

"Probably?!"

"Only kidding, dear," Christine said, patting Raoul's shoulder. "Now, I really must be going. He's not altogether fond of lateness."

Christine's journey back down to the catacombs went without incident. She used one of Erik's secret corridors to bypass the main theatre and avoid running into anyone there before beginning down the long stairs. 

She could hear Erik playing violin in a different room when she arrived and quickly hung up the cape and hat on the wall. The cloak went inside out, to hide the glitter, but it was far harder to hide the hat. She ended up tucking some of the feathers underneath a fold of the cape, so it wasn't instantly noticeable. The glittering mask went face-down on one of the tables in the next room. 

"You're late, Christine," Erik called, the violin not pausing. 

She swept into the room, the blue silk of her dress rippling around her. "Only by a few minutes. I'm sorry, I'll try to be better in the future," she said, having to nearly shout over the music. Many people seemed to underestimate just how loud a singular violin could be in a small, enclosed space. 

Erik shrugged. "It isn't like I have anything else to do with my time. Do not worry, all is well."

He paused abruptly, right in the middle of a phrase. Christine wasn't even sure he'd finished the note.

Erik set the violin and bow down delicately on the table and began massaging the fingers on each hand one at a time. 

"Damned fingers didn't used to get stuff so easily," he complained. "I need to get back to practicing more. My playing's become a lamentable mess."

"If you say so." Christine knew better than to try to correct Erik when he was degrading his own abilities. It only led to him hating it even more. Erik seemed to have two moods when it came to his musical ability: the more often mood that was fully confident in his abilities and made no false modesty, every inch a genius. The other mood was this horrible lamenting and self-depreciation. There was hardly any middle ground.

"Do you have any new music for me?" she asked, trying to draw him out of the bitter mood.

"What?" he said, glancing up sharply. "What, music? Ah. No. I rather thought we could go up to the roof and sing together some, seeing as it's finally dark outside and you're always urging me to get some fresh air."

"Oh- yes, that would be lovely." Christine tried to keep an even voice. "I'll go wait by the boat as you get your mask, shall I?"

Without waiting for an answer, she turned awkwardly and hurried out the door to the quay, where she'd tethered the boat upon arrival. She was finally becoming reasonably proficient at controlling it on her own, though she wasn't able to catch currents in the lake nearly as masterfully as Erik. 

A moment later, there was a shout from inside. 

_"CHRISTINE."_

She threw a hand over her mouth, pinching her nose shut to block all air. It was the only way to ensure she didn't laugh.

When she'd recovered a few moments later, she called back, "Is there a problem?"

A moment later, a highly bedazzled Erik appeared in the doorway. The candles caught the beads on his cape, throwing hundreds of sparks of light spinning around the room. 

Half his face appeared blindingly bright with the bright, sparkling mask. 

"Christine," he growled again. "Dare I ask what I've done to deserve this?"

"You- oh dear god." Christine fell to her knees, shaking. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she sat there, laughing uncontrollably. "Oh, Erik."

He glared at her, only managing to look vaguely intimidating, with all of his glitter. "Explain."

"Raoul helped," she forced out. "It was my idea. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Wonderful is not a word I'd apply to this situation."

He offered her a hand to help her back to her feet. Christine took it and allowed him to pull her upright. 

She rose to her toes and kissed him on the cheek opposite of the mask. "You look perfect, Erik. Positively marvelous."

"Thank you, my dear," he said dryly. "I hate it."

She gave him a playful push. "Admit it. You like it."

"I do not. It's humiliating, Christine. I am the phantom. Phantoms do not... _glitter."_

"This one apparently does."

_"Christine."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks I hate it -Erik


End file.
